Sunday, January 24, 2010

Undated - Fall/Winter 2009

Ah, the restaurateur. The well-known restaurateur. The one with the TV show. And the wife, who's all over the restaurants (which really are worth the fuss - I'm a good customer) and the TV show. Watching him, you can't but conclude he likes boys - his manner is unmistakably sodomite. Indeed, there's vigorous debate on the interwebs as to whether he likes boys. And I have the answer. He does.

The restaurateur goes to my gym, occasionally. One of those occasions happened to be a dreary Sunday afternoon late this fall - or maybe early this winter - somewhere in there. The restaurateur was heading into the gym just ahead of me, close enough that I was able to spend a few moments mulling over 'which way does he go, anyway?' Frankly, I can't look at him, be it on TV, on the street or in his one of his restaurants, without mulling that important question. Little did I imagine today was the day I'd get a rock solid answer.

In the locker room, he undressed and appeared to head straight for the shower/steam/sauna. A good sign. Nice slim, athletic bod - particularly for a guy in the food business. Nice I suited up and headed for the weights. Call me virtuous (or, read some more of this blog and see if you can still say that with a straight face). Half an hour or so later, it was my time to shower/steam/sauna. The place was fairly empty, it being a dreary Sunday afternoon. I settled into the sauna, where I chatted with Mr. Taste Free for a few minutes (he and I now chat in a familiar way that pretty much rules out any more anonymous blo-jobs). Then I made for the steam and was surprised and delighted to see the restaurateur passing by toward the showers looking well heated and sweaty. Maybe he eyed me. 'Ha, spending a lot of time in the company of other sweating naked men, Mr. Restaurateur? Got ya!' I thought to myself. In my mind, at that point, he was as busted as could be.

I settled into the steamroom with one other guy sitting by. A few minutes later, in walks the restaurateur. And he sits down next to me, to my left, but at a respectable distance. On his towel, not wrapped up in it. Wow! I switch on my full telepathic communication capability and start beaming the message "exit the steamroom, now!" at the third guy in the steamroom, while simultaneously beaming the message "the other guy will be out of here in two seconds" at the restaurateur. And sure enough, my telepathic systems were in good working order, as the third guy left pretty much on cue.

Then began a few moments of awkward mutual checking out, and the sending of self-groping signals. But progress was swift, with no unnecessary face-saving gestures of disinterest. He wanted it. He wanted it in a sad, guilty, but very passionate kind of way. He was the first to actually take hold of his cock and start stroking. He reached for me before I reached for him. And he reached first not for my cock, but for my right nipple, which he wanted to stroke. I responded in kind, with my tongue on his nipple (safe bet he was a nipple guy) and moved on to the side of his neck. And he responded with a happy shudder, and began groping my cock as I reached for his. This was a lot of body contact, and a lot of passion for steamroom sex. My right hand (by this time I was completely turned toward him on the bench) found his cock - long, skinny, with short trimmed pubes - and stroked gently. He was clearly enjoying himself hugely.

I whispered in his ear, an inch away: "do you want a blo?" to which he responded with a quiet, husky sound that I took for a 'yes'. I bent down, and took one long slow gentle stroke. We were suddenly interrupted by the door opening. "It's OK, don't stop for me." Mr. Taste Free! Very considerate, thank you, pal. I went down on the restaurateur again, and he lasted but about three more strokes before urging me off his cock. Two pumps of his own hand and he spewed - good distance and quantity for a middle-aged guy, I might say. I went back to nuzzling his neck as he caught his breath.

He gave me a long look, with actual eye contact, that was tinged with what I think was sadness. Or maybe straight out guilt. And then he was out of there. When he was safely out the door, Mr. Taste Free asked me, with his charming Spanish accent: "you do know who that was?" I played dumb.

Friday, January 22, 2010


It should always be this easy.

Early morning visit to the 'burbs. Really early - my errand is done by 7:00 am. And I'm in the vicinity of the recently rediscovered bookstore. As I'm heading south down the big six-lane road it's on, I come to the bookstore and see its parking lot is all but empty - about the only vehicle in the place, a Dodge Dakota pick-up, is idling at the mouth of the parking lot waiting for traffic to clear so he can pull out. Darn, only one guy there, and I'm just missing him. I pull a u-turn and head back north again. The Dakota guy pulls out just as I round my U-y, and catches my eye. Yes, catches my eye. No way. That would be way too efficient.

But it's also way too good not to at least follow up. I wind up just behind him in traffic, then maneuver my way next to him at the next light. I glance casually his way, and he mine. But too casual to really draw any definite conclusion from. Good enough, though, that I'm not going to give up. I fall in behind him, and sure enough a couple blocks later he's got his signal on for a left turn. And he activates the blinker early, giving me plenty of warning he's going to turn. This is looking promising.

I follow him around the turn (and catch the above pic) and he goes on about a quarter mile into an industrial area. And then, again with plenty of signaling, he pulls into a parking lot along the side of a warehouse/office building and proceeds slowly down the long narrow parking area. I pulled to the side of the road, not being quite confident enough in my judgment to follow him. He pulls head into a parking spot, sits a second, then backs out again and continues to where he had to turn around behind the building. When he turns, he stops long enough to give me the idea he's looking. I plunge in.

On the other side of the building, I find him backed in in front of a freight forwarder's office. I nod, he nods back. My first clear look at him. 40ish, heavy-set, a working man. Married, with ring. Not particularly attractive in any noticeable way. I pull in and park. He nods again, and I'm out of the car and over to his passenger window directly. No games: just a simple "You looking for a blo?" "Yeah, hop in." As I haul myself into the passenger seat he says: "I thought you were looking for something back at the bookstore." "Pretty amazing we got this worked out, huh?" He heartily agrees.

He's got his hard cock out already, and pulls aside his shirt to show it off. "Nice!" It is nice. Short, but really fat. Cut. And plenty of unruly untrimmed pubic hair. He gives it a good wag and urges me forward. His crotch smells sweet and soapy fresh. Two minutes of good vigorous sucking, and some purposeful thrusting from him and he's spilling a big sweet load into my mouth. He thanks me heartily as I swing out of the cab and spit his hefty, tasty load. I give him a salute and thank him back, noting for the first time the kiddie car seat in the back of rear seat. Daddy needed to nut.

He dropped his idling truck into gear and was moving out of there before I even started my car. End of story.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Undated - Fall 2009

Ah, the lost month and some . . . when I wasn't blogging actively, and wasn't keeping track of my exploits (and also suffered a nasty cold, some nasty work demands, and a hundred other excuses - really, readers, I was just burned out.). I've reconstructed from emails some of my activities. But there were some that did not involve emails, so I can't give you exact dates. And I don't have pictures, which I always try to get. Apologies.

The rediscovery of two bookstores, sometime this fall, date unknown: there are two XXX bookstores out by our local airport that I hadn't been to in several years. At one time, both had abundant gloryholes, and a thriving suburban customer base. Both have gone downhill significantly in recent years. One had suffered lots of police harassment in its tiny highly corrupt suburb. The other had suffered greedy, controlling owners. At least five years had passed since I'd darkened the door of either place.

Being out that way one day - and with some time to kill - I got inspired to check them out again.

I hit the first place, once a ten gloryhole joint, but in recent years reduced to one or two that would get covered over or not, one never knew when. And reports of lots of police presence. I went into the booth area and was greeted by two very friendly Mexican guys - the place is in a heavily Mexican area. Too friendly. Like I think they're probably hustlers. Unlikely looking hustlers, too - one was a short, well-built 40ish guy wearing a huge cowboy hat and cowboy boots and full cowboy regalia, the other maybe 30, big, and dressing all hip hop. But I avoided them. I'm not one to play the blowjob-for-a-price game, even in ranchero or cholo guise. I reflected their presence might explain police interference in recent years.

I was pretty much ready to leave after a short while, as there was no promising traffic. But as this thought formed in my mind, in walked a guy, probably 55, kinda middle managerial looking and wearing a wedding ring. Glasses, hair slicked back. A little better looking than the average guy, but not too much. Very Eastern European looks. Without really looking at anyone - very straight ahead gaze - he went directly into a booth and mostly closed the booth door. I hustled right over to seize the advantage. The door stood open enough that I could see him standing, staring intently at the screen, not looking back. After a few moments, I pushed the door open a little further. He did not react. So I stepped inside. He looks up, catches my eye and nods. I mince no words: "You looking for a blo?" "Yeah." The deal is sealed.

I sink directly to my knees as he hauls out . . . a huge, beautiful uncut cock. I mean fat, and long. Probably a true 7, and thick. Thick enough it didn't look all that long. Nice untrimmed bush. He takes the seat, and I commence a good 10 minute blo. I'm so loving this dick. And the guy's good, encouraging me with murmurs of enjoyment, guiding my head to maximize his pleasure; and he's considerate of my gag reflex. He builds up audibly to his orgasm, and floods my mouth with a huge, seriously flavorful load. This whole thing could not have been better.

Evidently he liked it too. He inquired whether I lived anywhere nearby, and specified that "the wife" doesn't put out. Sadly, I live too far away from him to be convenient, but when I told him I'd meet him here at the bookstore anytime (I'd drive 20 minutes for that cock any time of day or night) he brightened up and solicited my phone number. I didn't blink before giving it. He entered it into his cell phone's contacts along with my name.

And then I never heard from him again. Damn.

A couple weeks later, encouraged by my return visit to bookstore one, I tried bookstore two. These two XXXs are located a couple miles apart on a seedy commercial strip the likes of which inspired Lady Bird Johnson to launch her Beautify America campaign. Cheap hotels, car dealers, gas stations and fleabag apartments. Nasty. Just the place for a XXX.

This second place has the strange distinction of sharing a building with a car mechanic's shop - the kind of a shop that has lots of guys milling around out front while their beaters get patched up enough to last a few more months. At 11:30 am, the bookstore's long, narrow parking area was completely full - I had to wait for someone to leave to get a spot. Amazing. Lunch hasn't even started.

Inside the place was just as congested. But it's not a promising crowd. All the gloryhole booths are occupied. I hang around a bit, and manage to get into two of them. No reason to stay long in either, if you know what I mean. Lots of guys standing around, waiting for their shot at the holes. One was a tall pale skinny string-bean guy wearing a sweatshirt with the logo of one of the nation's leading Catholic universities. He looked about 35. Dweeby as all hell, but not unattractive. He kept checking me out, but I was feeling not interested.

Then he moved into a non-hole booth directly across from where I'd been reduced to leaning against a booth (the place was that crowded - milling about was not really feasible). He fed the machine and left the door open enough for me (and several other guys, given the density of the crowd) to watch him paw his sweatpants. And the pawing is showing something interesting. Big, I think - though in my experience big bulges can often disappoint. But this one's transfixingly big, at least in this preliminary stage.

What the hell, I gotta check this out. I step into the booth, close the door and reach for his crotch all in one smooth, easy motion. Goddamn! It feels as big as it looks! I reach past the elastic of his sweats to grab this monster - and in my hand, it doesn't disappoint, not one bit. I haul it out and sink straight to my knees without asking further. A monster it definitely is. Almost freakishly large - I'd say a true 8" or more and extremely fat. It looked completely out of place on this tall skinny guy. But that wan't stopping me. I went down on him and sucked for all I was worth. He wasn't super rock hard - really big dicks usually aren't, I've found - but wow, what a mouthful. I stretched my jaws and relaxed my throat as best I could for a good 5 minutes. This was competition level cocksucking, I tell you.

At some point I clearly got tired, and he encouraged me to stand. Which was nice, as it gave me another vantage point from which to admire his enormous meat. He reached for my hard cock when I stood - I'd been jerking the whole time I was sucking him. He stroked me a couple times, and then dove on my cock, sucking like a champ. A fine cocksucker, which came as a surprise as he just didn't look the type. And a good surprise as I was (1) already close, and (2) needing to get on with my day. I decided to give him my nut. I gave him plenty of auditory warning before I started to cream, but he reacted to my shot by pulling out and spitting suddenly. What a downer to go from a great blo to cool air and vigorous jerking.

Not a good finish. I was out of there and on my way within minutes.